


There's Something Tragic About You

by CiaraK_1996



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-05-16 17:42:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19323001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CiaraK_1996/pseuds/CiaraK_1996
Summary: The world won't end itself. When Plan A fails, what's left but to move to Plan B? Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves in the thick of the latest plot to end the world; the summoning of Lucifer's Bride, Queen of Hell, Waker of the Dead, and Bearer of the Key of Saint Peter. This time it will not be easy.





	1. Honey, You're Familiar

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a long WIP, please bear with me. This will become more violent in time.

Officially speaking, Arthur Zachary Fell, or A.Z. Fell, ran a bookshop. However, he rarely sold any books. Most of the books in his collection were favourites of his and hated the idea of being parted from them, on occasion he would invest in a new author and attempt to distribute them to give the impression he actually did sell books. Not that he sold many of those either.

There was one author, that despite increasing fame in certain circles had not ended their contract. Aziraphale stared into the box containing fifty copies of the latest book by Isis Hellier. According to the cover, this newest addition would continue in the story arch regarding the immortal but humane witch Helen only this time she was a mother of an innately evil child. Aziraphale picked up one of the books, they were always published at first to look old. Limited editions bound in faux leather, there would only be a thousand of these in the world. 19 other bespoke bookshops in the country would mysteriously receive these boxes of limited books. The author did now supply to shop upper-end mainstream stores and even publish electronically for her growing international fanbase, but the limited 1st editions and the later hardback books only came through the little quirky shops.

Aziraphale walked over to his desk with the latest book and a fresh cup of cocoa and began reading. He always read them before putting them on the shelf, and secretly he only ever put forty-nine books on the shelf. She was rather good. Her writing was simple and her plots a little plain, but there was always so much emotion, history, depth, and _humanity_. Often her books contained romances, but they were never the main plot, sometimes the girl would pine over a boy and take three novels to get noticed, other times the two women were married but so in love they still made the reader squirm at the slightest interaction, and more recently two men were so in love with each other it was as obvious as the dawn to everyone except to each other. In truth, he read them for the romances, though he would never admit it. He read them for better customer service, he kept one because he liked the philosophy, but he loved them for the romance. And Aziraphale was a softy when it came to romances and tragedies, and Isis Hellier had enough mythology, philosophy, and history to keep each love story different and eternally entertaining.

Suddenly the little bell above the door twinkled. Aziraphale did not have to look up from the page to know that it was _her_. For the past fortnight a young woman who called herself Pip had been in his shop all opening hours, even when he drastically and radically changed them to put her off. Be the open hours 4 am to 3 pm, or 5:14 pm to 1:58 am, she was there. She never bought a book; she simply left a twenty-pound note at the till and read all day. Somehow this always annoyed him more than people wanting to buy and permanently remove his beloved books. After all, this was not a reference library. The worst thing yet was after the first week, other people had started doing it. The odd smells and bitter glares were no longer putting people off. Two days ago, there were twenty people crammed into his little book shop, several hundred pounds in the till and not a single book sold. People simply left as much as they wanted sat down and read a book or two and then left, some left pennies and stayed for hours, other left pound notes for just twenty minutes. She seemed to establish silent rules that everyone seemed to instinctively follow.

“Morning, Mr Fell.” She said cheerfully, she placed a box she was carrying on a table and grabbed a cardboard plate, placed a slice of cake on it and placed it in front of Aziraphale. She glanced at the book in his hands and gave a little smile, “Isis Hellier, do you like her books?”

“Oh, well,” Aziraphale stuttered, “I ought to know the books I attempt to sell.”

“Talking of selling books,” Pip started ominously, “You haven’t sold many lately.”

Aziraphale scowled, “Well someone keeps paying for time instead of books.”

“Well, someone dislikes selling their _precious_ books.” Pip retorted pointedly, she picked a book and placed herself carefully in a 150-year-old chair beside the window.

Aziraphale looked at the devil’s food cake in front him and smiled, he had eaten many cakes over the past few hundred years, cakes didn’t get any good until around the fifteenth century, yet somehow Pip’s cakes were always perfectly baked, moist, and flavoursome.

The bell rang again, Aziraphale glanced up to see Crowley sauntering towards him, his snake eyes hiding behind his sunglasses.

“She’s here again I see.” He muttered, glancing over at the woman lost in a book.

“Fourteen days,” Aziraphale affirmed, “At least she brings cake.”

Crowley glanced at it perplexed, “Your favourite? How does she know?”

Aziraphale did not understand the subtle tone in his voice, “She seems to just know a lot.”

“You must be Crowley,” Pip said suddenly appearing behind them, Crowley turned and stared at her through tinted lenses.

“How do you know that?” He asked, “Have we met?”

“Oh, no,” Pip smiled sweetly, “I saw your number on the wall. Although you do seem rather familiar.”

Crowley didn’t need to look to know that there was a yellow post-it note on Aziraphale’s desk with Crowley’s name and phone numbers, they changed so often Aziraphale often wrote them down.

“Would you like some cake?” She asked innocently, pointing towards the box, “There’s some angel cake.”

Crowley looked upon her suspiciously but walked menacingly towards the box of sweet treats regardless. He returned and sat beside Aziraphale, watching Pip resume her seat.

“What sort of name is ‘Pip’ anyway?” Crowley commented on this the first time Aziraphale mentioned her, and two weeks later it still annoyed him.

“I still don’t know,” Aziraphale mused, licking his fingers and wiping them on a napkin before turning the page of his latest book, “But she’s such a good cook, and …”

“She doesn’t take your books away,” Crowley finished.

“What are you doing here anyway,” Aziraphale asked putting down his reading glasses.

“Bored,” Crowley shrugged, he glanced back over at the young woman who called herself Pip, “She does seem familiar.”

“Really?” Aziraphale asked a little too interested, “How so?”

“Not sure,” He muttered, “Just something …”

He looked at her, she was reading something and taking notes enthusiastically, “What is she doing?”

“Studying,” Aziraphale answered not looking away from his book, “She’s writing her thesis for her doctorate.”

“In what?”

“Theology.”

“Oh,” Crowley muttered and smiled, “So she found herself an angel as a study partner?”

Aziraphale looked over his reading glasses, “She does not know and I am certainly not helping her … unless you count allowing her to read some of my mistranslated Bibles.”

Crowley cocked a brow, “You let her read _those_?”

Aziraphale scowled, “Well … she did ask ever so nicely and …”

“Made you cake?” Crowley offered, which just seemed to annoy Aziraphale.

“I am not that easily … _corrupted_ , Crowley,” Aziraphale huffed, “But they are nice.”

Crowley smirked and nibbled at his slice of angel cake, even he had to admit it was nice.

“Oh, I heard something, form … my former employer,” Crowley said ominously.

Aziraphale looked very worried, the colour emptying from his face, “O-oh?”

Crowley shrugged, “It’s not that bad really, just Zagan is being deployed in my stead.”

“Zagan?” Aziraphale frowned, not finding the name particularly familiar.

“Meh, an old-fashioned, stuck-up, stickler for the rules,” Crowley didn’t seem very concerned.

Aziraphale raised a brow, “Doesn’t like you then, I take it?”

Crowley looked offended, and then reluctantly nodded, “Pretty much, but he’s old-fashioned in the … _better_ sense. The sort to creep someone out and meddles in the shadows rather than slaughtering virgins because he felt like having a bath.”

Aziraphale conceded with a small nod, then frowned at the pages of his book without looking at the words, “But another … _demon_ ,” he whispered, “ _Here?_ It will not be long before we’re caught in the middle of their war again.”

“Maybe they’ll send another angel?” Crowley asked pointedly.

Aziraphale shuddered. The demons were scared of Crowley, he had a reputation even if it was mostly built on lies. When they switched places for their trials, they had each terrified the other’s former employers. But Aziraphale did not have a long-lasting fearful reputation, he had a reputation for being a coward, clumsy, and eating too much food which he did not have to consume in the first place. Heaven was more likely to strike first because they had less to fear from Aziraphale, even if they did now think he could survive Hell Fire.

“Relax,” Crowley whined, “Nothing’s going to happen.”

“You don’t know that.” Aziraphale protested, his back as straight as a rod. He could almost feel Crowley rolling his snake-like eyes.

“Relax, angel,” Crowley whispered, almost soft, “They’ll attack each other before bothering with us.”

Aziraphale scowled, clearly unconvinced, “Speaking of that,” he rummaged through some papers that were littering his desk, “I’ve noticed some worrying patterns.”

“Oh, no,” Crowley groaned, “We just saved the world, can’t we get a break?”

“It’s been six _months_ , Crowley,” Aziraphale stated as if he had expected Heaven and Hell to be back at each other’s necks within a fortnight.

Crowley looked disappointed, “Still … okay, fine. What is it?”

“I’m afraid I don’t really understand these,” Aziraphale babbled in a hushed voice, “Pip mentioned from her reading some of the Prophetic occurrences that have occurred. I checked them and they have occurred since we … averted the apocalypse. This is the one I can't understand, Astrology isn't allowed ... _upstairs_.”

Crowley snatched the star charts with a huff of annoyance, and then stood, suddenly alert and alarmed. He looked up towards Pip and then back down at the star charts.

“ _When Lucifer’s star inverts; Venus shall Fall._ ” Crowley muttered almost automatically, “This is not good at all.”

Aziraphale looked mildly puzzled, “Inverted?”

“Look,” Crowley showed him the charts, “Venus is slowing, changing orbit. It’s turning back on itself. Venus was originally named _Lucifer_ by Cain, it was renamed Venus much later.”

“So… Venus is a person?” Aziraphale asked slowly, “Or is Hell planning on throwing a planet at us?”

Crowley grimaced and shrugged, “We think it’s a reference to Leah.”

“Leah?”

“The Whore of Babylon,” Crowley explained quickly, “A woman of lust and desire. Thought to ride the Beast in the End.”

“Leah lived and died thousands of years ago,” Aziraphale protested feebly, realising the answer the moment he spoke the question.

“She would be reborn from the ashes at Megiddo where her body was thrown.” Crowley rushed to explain, “She’s to Herold the End of the War, to rule by Lucifer’s side and corrupt the human race and lead them to damnation.”

Aziraphale thought for a moment, “So just the same old routine.”

Crowley smirked, hiding the worry he felt in his heart, Lucifer’s bride was supposed to rise _during_ Armageddon, only they had stopped Armageddon in its track. Was it possible to skip that stage in the destruction of the Earth?

“How about some lunch?” Crowley said suddenly, putting down the celestial charts, “There’s a new Thai restaurant opening down the road.”

Aziraphale looked troubled and then back at his unfinished book, but promises of food were never wasted on him, “I’ll fetch my coat.”

Crowley watched him walk away and found his gaze falling on the woman in the corner, reading and scribbling her notes. She did seem awfully familiar.


	2. My Mirror Years Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip down memory lane for Pip. Crowley becomes more suspicious about Aziraphale's new friend.

Buzzbuzzbuz. Crowley groaned, he never answered the intercom, the only people who ever visited him never used it anyway. Buzzbuzzbuzz. But then again, he _was_ bored. He half slid and half fell out of his bed, his head still spinning from the night before. He and Aziraphale had gone out for lunch, which then led to a play at a local theatre, dinner at Clos Maggiore, too many glasses of wine at the bar until Crowley was thrown out. In the end, they ended up on an accidental pub crawl, travelling from one bar to the next. Crowley approached the buzzing intercom trying to remember the later events of the evening.

“Hello?” He asked menacingly, maybe they were girl scouts and he could tempt them to put laxatives in their next batch cookies.

“Oh! Hello, I’m afraid I’ve broken down,” It was a woman’s voice, “My mobile is dead, the pay phone around the corner has a _tree_ growing out of it, and the previous seven flats haven’t answered. May I use your phone? Or-or you could call someone out for me?”

Normally Crowley would have left her to suffer, or blown up the engine of her vehicle so no mechanic could fix it, or if he were feeling _kind_ he would have healed her vehicle. Instead, he pressed the button to let her up, “Flat thirteen.”

“Thank you.” And the line went dead. Crowley changed his clothes and put on a pair of darkened glasses with a snap of his fingers. He paced his sparse flat and made sure nothing too demonic was visible, there wasn’t much he could do about the statues. He had the vague idea there had been singing at some point during the night. He was hissing at his plants to behave themselves when there was a knock on the door.

“It’s open.” He stated firmly.

The door opened slowly, the woman the other side was young-ish no more than thirty for sure, wearing black and rich purple motorcycle leathers.

“Oh, hello Mr Crowley” She was the annoying customer from Aziraphale’s bookshop, she melted into a more comfortable stance and smiled, she also couldn’t help herself looking around, “Nice place.”

Crowley almost smiled, though there was something about her that was familiar, other than seeing her with her nose in a book. Something … _else_.

“So,” Pip said awkwardly, “Where’s your phone?”

Crowley snapped out of it; he had been staring. “Sorry, over here.”

He led her to his desk and an old phone, though not as old as Aziraphale’s. She made no comment about the elaborate regal chair as she took a small calling card out of her purse and dialled. Crowley watched her intensely, trying to figure her out, he watched her tap her toe, and roll her eyes as she remained on hold. He watched as she looked around the sparse apartment and looked at the statues of angels fighting, and the stone lectern he had taken during the Second World War.

Crowley averted his eyes and glanced out of the window where he saw a dark purple motorbike with a smoking engine. _Perhaps it will blow itself up,_ he thought. There had definitely been singing, and he had said something stupid to Aziraphale outside his bookshop, but could not quite remember what.

Pip let out a groan of annoyance which snapped Crowley’s attention back to her and their eyes met.

_Oh no_ , he thought despairingly, _I’ve seen those eyes before_.

He took the phone from her hand and placed it back down, “I think I know you.”

“Oh?” She asked innocently, and slightly concerned, “Do tell.”

“Or rather I’ve seen that soul before,” Crowley said cautiously, demons had a habit of freaking people out for no reason and these words coming from any strange man was enough to freak out any sensible person, “Same soul, different eyes.”

She held his gaze firmly; she was cautious and unwavering, but there was no fear or panic in her green eyes, just her soul.

“Do you trust me?” Crowley found himself saying, human instinct was to never trust a demon, never. A demon could be walking down the street as undemonic as possible and people would cross just to avoid them. Tempting required a lot of power to even get close to someone and often a fair amount of hypnosis to get past their natural defences. Crowley removed his dark-tinted glasses and waited for the fear, the horror, the disgust. She smiled.

“I’ve seen those eyes before too,” She whispered, “As if in a dream, the familiarity is there, but … I can’t quite remember.”

Crowley thought about this and decided honesty might work, “I’m a demon, older than the Earth which is not as old as you think. It’s possible you met me in a past life.”

“So, what do you suggest? Past life regression?” Pip said numbly, Crowley could tell she did not like the idea, and there were probably several good reasons for that if he had been involved in any of them.

“This will be intense,” Crowley warned, “Worse than some psychic with a deck of tarot cards. Once we begin, I will not be able to stop it.”

“Better get started then.” Pip spoke with conviction that almost persuaded Crowley into thinking this was a good idea. Almost, but not quite.

He raised his hands to her temples, and she shuddered, eyes rolled back and suddenly they were gone.

***       *       ***

It would be a different experience for both of them, Crowley would watch as if seeing a play, but Pip was stuck in memory, no autonomy of thought or action, she was temporarily trapped in the actions and the thoughts of the previous incarnation.

** August 1972 – Somewhere in Vietnam **

Crowley looked around and recognised it instantly; Vietnam, 1972. He had come here for a few temptations and to keep up appearances, taking responsibility for something only persuaded Hell if you were actually observed to be in the vicinity. In truth a few minor temptations had been a dreadfully terrible idea, American soldiers were usually terrible people anyway, but a demonic temptation mixed with War’s red kiss caused mayhem and horrors beyond Crowley’s worst nightmares. Hell was very pleased. Aziraphale did not talk to him for a decade.

Pip was screaming. Only she was not Pip anymore, nor was she a _she_. Pip’s soul was in a young Vietnamese boy who was screaming for his mother. The burning fields, the stench of death, and the young boy’s injuries suggested that anyone he cared about was long dead. Crowley looked on, invisible to anyone else in the vision. He knew it was Pip in there because he was her mind and _she_ knew, but outwardly there was nothing familiar. Until an American soldier marched out of the scorched shrubbery. The soldier was rabid, savage, seeing only red. He was a man so mad with bloodlust, that where he should have seen a crying child, he saw only meat for butchering. He raised his weapon to the visibly defenceless child. Pip, or rather the boy’s face relaxed and then hardened with calm determination and ruthless wrath. The child was gunned down, but that cold hateful stare seemed to wake something in the soldier.

Crowley was confused as to why he was still there and had not moved on to another past life, then he realised the boy was still alive and still eerily calm. As he died, he continued to stare at the soldier. The man lowered his weapon and for a moment looked remorseful. He dropped the large machine gun and took out a pistol. He raised the smaller gun to his temple and pulled the trigger. The child died with a smile on his face.

** September 1888 - London, England **

The scene changed and Crowley instantly recognised London in the late 1800s. He was asleep for most of this century, but by 1860 he was fully refreshed and awake. This was later though; he could tell from the clothes. He was surprised to see himself walking along the street and whore tried to seduce him.

“Do I look like I want herpes?” Past Crowley sneered and stormed off. It was then that twenty-first century Crowley got a better look at the whore. She had curly dark brown hair and light grey eyes, and a face Crowley had only come to know after her murder. Liz Stride. Another man approached the prostitute, a man who was never identified, a man who was simply known as Jack the Ripper. Crowley followed them, she was already dead and just before the scene faded, he stared into the face of the Seraphim Sandalphon.

** October 1702 - Rome, Italy **

_Nuns_ , Crowley thought bitterly, _and not even the satanic sort_. These were quiet ones, with the exception of the smacking sound. Crowley turned around to find Pip’s previous body being flogged with a thin branch of a tree. This past life had an olive complexion, soft brown eyes and straight dark brown hair escaping from beneath her coif. She was gritting her teeth as the branch sliced through the air to strike her back. Tears fell onto her cheeks, but there was no pain in her eyes, only hatred.

Crowley found himself wondering what she had done, which was precisely when he noticed the other sister of the order on the floor before the crucifix, her back exposed and bleeding. He had to think for a moment to translate the mix of Latin and Italian muttered from her lips and through her painful tears.

“I-I beg you, my Lord, please … please forgive me. I have sinned and turned away from your light,” She sobbed a little as the whip lashed through the air striking the other nun, “Please, my Lord, I beg your forgiveness and to right me of my wrongs. I have sworn chastity, and have … I have …”

The Mother Superior holding the whip turned around and suddenly struck the praying nun, who screamed.

“Confess!” She hissed, “Only then can God _consider_ forgiving you!”

The praying nun rested back on her knees and clutched her rosary, “Forgive me, Father, for I-I have … “She shuddered expecting the whip to strike, “I have fornicated …”

The whip struck her.

“I have lain with a woman,” She sobbed.

_Ah_ , Crowley realised, _two women … no, two_ nuns _caught not only … fornicating, but fornicating with each other. That was never good_.

Pip’s previous carnation was harder to break, she stared at the wall, her eyes hateful and her teeth clenched like a wolf about to rip some deer’s throat open.

“ _Bitch!_ ” The Mother Superior hissed, throwing down the whip in exhaustion, “ _Sister_ Magda, you will stay here and starve until you beg forgiveness, or you will _die_ here!”

She turned and grabbed the other nun by her coif and golden hair and dragged her from the room and locked the door behind them. Sister Magda stayed on the floor, still seething. Eventually, she stood, shakily and painfully. She turned to the crucifix.

“Dying for our sins,” She said to the carved likeness of a corpse upon the cross, “How did that work out for you?”

She paced the room a little. She was not very old, seventeen at most Crowley decided.

“We are all created by God as God planned,” She continued, talking to the empty room as it was at the time, “So in many ways, God intended that I should desire women. So really it is His fault!”

She had a point, Crowley allowed, rules were just too much effort. Then he saw a thought, it flickered behind her eyes and played a sinful smile on her lips. She strode over the other altar and picked up one of the two oil lamps and threw it at the locked door. The oil spilt and ignited, engulfing the heavy door is bright flames. Once the wood was black and cracked she lifted the heavy crucifix and slammed it into the door, just as the door was about to give way she threw it, allowing the crucifix to smash through the burning door and hit the stone wall the other side. She picked up the second lamp and threw down the corridor, flames licked the floor and she walked in the other direction. Every candle, every flaming torch was thrown to the wooden floorboards. By the time she descended and opened the Abbey doors almost the entire building was engulfed in flames.

She smiled as she watched the nuns running to safety, after all, she had made more than enough noise to wake the dead.

Once outside Crowley suddenly became aware that he knew this place, “Oh … would-be-Saint Antonio,” He muttered to himself, he looked at sister Magda, “Tempted him into a brothel, he should have become a Pope.”

Crowley hissed absently, “Unfortunately, a gentle nudge was just a little too much. He left the brothel and … well, he came here. Corrupted half the nuns.”

Then he thought some more, “When are we? 1700? No … I corrupted him, oh, about fifteen years ago,” Then he looked back at Sister Magda, _“Oh!”_

** January 1397 – Ireland **

The fourteenth century, he never thought such in his worst nightmares he would ever end up back in the _fourteenth bloody century!_

Crowley saw an old man, a monk guessing from his clothes at a glance. It was cold out on the hills; dampness filled the icy morning air. The old man had no shoes on, he seemed to be wearing nothing, but the dirty brown robe and the rope bound around his waist. He was praying.

Crowley looked east at the light beginning to fill the violet sky, at a guess he was somewhere is Britain or Ireland, but it was hard to tell when there were only cold quiet hills and a white old man praying. Crowley paced; every other life thus far had been at least a little interesting. Alright, watching her die in the fire of London was not fun, nor was seeing her as a young man die in the Great Plague of Vienna, but at least there something happening.

“Are you there, God?” The old man said suddenly, startling Crowley a little. _Irish then_ , Crowley noted from the dialect.

“Nope, definitely not God,” Crowley mumbled, still looking around as if to see if the Almighty would grace this monk with her presence.

“Are you an angel then?” The man replied; his eyes were shut tightly against the dawn, “Tell me why has She forsaken me?”

“Definitely _not_ an angel,” Crowley frowned and paced a little, “You can hear me?”

“Aye, I can hear you,” The old monk replied.

“B-but I’m not here,” Crowley hissed accidentally, “I’m in … someone’s memories.”

“You are in my memories,” The man responded, “All the memories I have had and all of those and I am yet to live.”

Crowley straightened and tilted his head, “You referred to God as ‘She’, why?”

The monk almost smiled, “I know she is a woman. I just do. She is clever and scheming, and wrathful, but also kind and forgiving.”

Crowley hissed more purposefully this time, “She is not very forgiving. Your lot think God is a man though.”

“Aye,” The monk nodded, still kneeling on the damp earth holding his eyes shut and the hills became bathed in orange light, “That is why I am here. I am to right my ways and accept God as the Church defines ‘him’, but I know she is a woman, I have seen her face and felt her raw wrath.”

Crowley frowned, “God’s not on for personally yelling at humans, probably kills them. Maybe it was Michael, they cross-dress a lot. Can never make up their mind, they’re a woman in the … my time, maybe they yelled at you?”

The monk gave a little chuckle, “Nay, it was God.”

“But why was God so angry at you that She personally descended to scald you?”

“This body had done nothing,” The monk replied, “But this soul had sinned.”

Crowley grimaced, “Again, not one for scolding thoughts, _we_ only get you after you physically do something bad.”

“You do not understand, serpent,” The monk’s eyes remained closed as he stood with great effort, “My soul is older than these bones, and will live on after my blood runs cold. This soul has felt God’s wrath, and no matter how hard I pray, I will not be forgiven.”

“Like Prometheus,” Crowley blurted, “Do one thing bad and get cursed to die every day for all eternity.”

“Do what you do best, Watcher,” The monk said, “You shall see the end in the beginning, and the beginning in the end. All I ask is that you protect Persephone.”

The man collapsed to the floor suddenly, his pale blue eyes open and unseeing. His breath never returned to his body.

“Who the fuck is Persephone?” Crowley hissed as the vision faded again. Crowley lived through some of the most important days of those lives, the days she died mostly, sometimes the days they found love, the days she wept. His head was pounding, this was not right, most people were only ever reincarnated two or three times, never _hundreds_. But the further back they went, the more worried he became.


	3. Innocence Died Screaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Pip continue their journey through Pip's past lives, to find the very first life.

She had been men and woman, different races and ethnicities, she had been nobility and peasant. She lived at least once every century, sometimes she lived twice.

** June 1493 BC – Thebes, Egypt **

She was radiant. Covered in gems and gold, dressed in fine cloth, her black hair braided with ribbons and gold. She looked like a queen, which could not be said for her husband. Thutmosis or Thutmosis II as he would be known after this ceremony would rule as Pharaoh but only through his marriage to his half-sister, Hatshepsut, who was of a purer bloodline. She was pure regal grace, while he looked like someone worried about being thrown out of a party he was not officially invited to.

Crowley smirked, he had not spent much time in Egypt during this period he had been several centuries earlier when it was raining toads all over the place, and especially once the Greeks and Romans invaded, but during the fifteenth century BC, he was preoccupied with conflicts in South Asia.

Hatshepsut was clearly the better ruler, and she made herself known and wrapped her husband/brother around her little finger. He may have had the beard, but she certainly had the head for it. They had mingled with their guests, Hatshepsut spoke of politics and international relations, Thutmosis spoke of the wine and the ripeness of the fruits at the banquet.

It came to no surprise to Crowley that when he looked into Hatshepsut’s dark eyes, he saw Pip’s soul staring back.

** July 3607 BC - Babylon **

Six centuries after the Flood and Earth had worsened. Crowley in his natural timeline had laughed at this, but in truth, he was crying inside. Why would God go to all the effort of drowning thousands of people when the planet had not yet reached its first million to rid the Earth of evil only to fail. _She_ was the worst of it.

Many a man simply called her the Woman or the Whore, but her name had been Leah. Women simply threw rotting fruit in her general direction and mysteriously missed. Technically she did nothing evil unless you counted seducing men away from their wives, but in truth, she played on their existing weaknesses and shamed them for it. What she did had really inspired Crowley, she tempted people. However, these were not obvious temptations like so many other demons insisted on; ‘kill him’, ‘rape her’, ‘steal that’, ‘break this’, ‘threaten them’, et cetera. The Whore tempted ever so sweetly for the smallest favour and watched the nightmare that ensued. For example, she was currently sitting on a throne surrounded by men and women in various states of undress and was asking a slave to fetch some water, but not from the local well as the water from the local well tasted bitter. The slave had rushed off to do as he was bid, he tested this well and that and they all tasted bitter. Eventually, he came upon the King’s personal well, the guards were absent from the garden, and a king should provide for his people who will only become sick drinking bitter water. The slave ran into the palace garden and rushed to fill his pale. A guard found him and put him to death instantly. However, there were slaves in the palace and slaves outside the walls who saw this and rebelled, supported by any master whose stomach ached from the bitter water, and Babylon was at war again. And the Whore smiled.

Present day Crowley looked at her closely. She had a full head of dark curls, perfect copper skin, and her eyes were near black. She was tall for the era, which is to say she was about 5 foot and 5 inches. But in her black eyes, he saw the same spark that had been in Pip’s green eyes, as well as in the lives he had already seen.

_She’s the Whore of Babylon_ , he thought bitterly, _that is never a good thing_.

The Whore was often associated with Armageddon in a bad way. Humans said she would ride upon a great beast with seven heads and ten horns upon each of them, this was incorrect. According to Hell, The Whore would be summoned six months into the final war as a final push to vanquish Heaven. No one was quite sure how long Armageddon was supposed to last, but bets had ranged from days to centuries. After all the war would not be won until the last angel or the last demon died. Humanity, however, and everything living upon the Earth had an estimated survival rate of 4 hours and 27 minutes after the first assault began, the majority of all life would be wiped out in the first 22 minutes, however, the fallout of the conflict would take longer to reach Malaysia, Indonesia, and other Pacific islands. Crowley looked up at the Whore, if Pip was her and she was Pip, it meant Heaven and Hell were ready to try again.

***       *       ***

** The First Life. **

_Of course_ , Crowley thought, he was still watching her past lives from a third perspective as Pip lived through her many faces again, _of course, she was there in the beginning_.

**_Eden, day six, dawn._ **

Adam and Lilith crawled from the clay earth to watch the sixth sunrise; God had created them to know what to do with their new lives. They would learn fast and create other lives faster than they should, a pregnancy would last a matter of weeks instead of months. The angel that Crowley once was often wondered why God had not simply made more of them, but Crawley realised after the fall that this was a controlled experiment; you don’t test something with a million guinea pigs at first, you start with two. Adam was born strong and powerful, dark skin and dark eyes accustomed to God’s light, Lilith, however, was his opposite with blue eyes like the new sky, red hair and pale skin that burned if exposed to the sun for too long. Crowley watched the scene unfold, Lilith and Adam kissed and did their sacred duty. Crowley could not help but smile as Aziraphale approached them sometime after.

“Um, hello,” He said nervously, even in the Language of Angels he sounded the same, “I am Aziraphael, the Guardian of the Eastern Gate.”

He fiddled with his burning sword for a moment, “This is the Garden of Eden, you are free to roam within these walls and may eat the fruits of any tree with the exception of this one,” He pointed to a tree with deep red apples, “The tree of Knowledge. Or from the Tree of Life, but that’s … somewhere else.”

“Thank you, Aziraphale,” Lilith smiled, and the Cherubim almost fell over with surprise. Even Crowley remembered Lilith was knowledgeable, but he had assumed she had eaten from the tree of her own accord, but he had just watched her entire life so far and she had not so much as looked at it until Aziraphale pointed it out.

“You-you,” Aziraphale stammered, “You can _talk_?”

Lilith looked rather confused, “Am I not supposed to?”

“Oh, um,” Aziraphale wrung his fingers and shifted nervously, “Well I suppose you must,” He smiled, “God has made you as you are for a reason.”

Some people believe Enochian is the language of Angels. This is incorrect. Enochian is however proto-Hebrew. The Enochian language was first written by Enoch, son of Caine, son of Adam. Adam and Eve spoke it first based very loosely of their limited understanding of the Angels and Lilith. Humans were intended to develop language over hundreds of years, and certainly not based on the Language of Angels which is supposedly impossible for humans to speak … and yet there was Lilith, talking in a forbidden language as if it were as easy as breathing. Aziraphale was suddenly very worried for the first woman, Rachael was always a stickler for the rules.

It was nearly midday and Crowley watched himself as an angel approach Lilith who was hiding from the sun beneath a tree. Crowley almost cried, he had been stripped of his Holy powers in the Fall, and his old name. He had wanted to forget what it was like to be an angel and seeing himself with brilliant white wings was like being stabbed repeatedly in the chest and never dying. He had almost forgotten that his eyes had been deep brown, that he had been graceful, that he had been kind.

“Hello,” He watched himself say to her, “My name is Baraqiel.”

“Lightning of God,” Lilith said sweetly, beaming from the knowledge a few words gifted her, “You are of the Grigori - watchers.”

Baraqiel looked a little surprised, “I had been told you were learning quickly, but…”

Lilith looked a little bashful, “I know, I think there might be something wrong with me, the Cherubim Angels keep watching me. As if expecting me to do something wrong. Aziraphale’s nice though.”

Baraqiel looked around, to make sure they weren’t being watched too closely, “Well perhaps you’re just clever.”

“ _Too_ clever,” Lilith retorted.

“Why are you hiding in the shade?” Baraqiel asked changing the subject, Crowley frowned knowing all too well what these questions would bring him. Baraqiel pointed at Adam, “Why are you not discovering the garden with him?”

“The sun is too hot,” She said simply, looking at her red arm, “And besides, Adam’s an idiot.”

Baraqiel laughed, “Not like you then.”

“No, he’s not like me at _all_ ,” Lilith looked up towards Adam and smiled, it would later be called mischievous, “That bee is going to sting him.”

Baraqiel frowned and a moment later Adam yelped in pain.

“Bees make honey from the flowers,” Lilith explained, “But they sting when threatened. Sad really.”

“Why is that sad?” Crowley almost wished he could walk up to his former self and scream at him to stop asking so many damn questions. His questioning of God came about because of this conversation, so simple and innocent but Lilith was corrupted and that planted doubts into Baraqiel’s mind. Lucifer and many others were already protesting, without having ever met Lilith, but Baraqiel was simply curious and had to see for himself.

“When a bee stings something, they die.” Lilith muttered sadly, “They sacrifice themselves to protect the hive.”

“Oh,” now Baraqiel looked at the tiny bee with the same sadness she felt for the creature, though she had no patience for Adam’s wordless complaints. Baraqiel and Lilith talked for a few more hours and then he left, and the damage was done. Crowley had forgiven Lilith centuries ago, she was a few hours old, it could not really be her fault, she was not being malicious after all. However, Crowley had always assumed she had accidentally eaten from the Tree, but now he knew she hadn’t.

Eve was born at sunset. Crowley could feel Lilith’s emotions; she was confused, sad, and jealous. She knew she was being replaced. Crowley had not seen this the first-time round; he was upstairs following Lucifer and his friends. He wished he had been here for Lilith. Eve grew from Adam’s bone and at once Lilith knew why she was wrong. Eve had the same perfectly dark skin, black ringlets that flowed over her shoulders. Lilith was as pale as the barren sands outside the Walls of Eden, Eve was the colour of the fertile Earth. Eve was beautiful in Lilith’s eyes, and Adam loved her instantly. Eve looked lost and Lilith wanted to make her welcome and so she kissed her. Eve recoiled in silent horror and Lilith frowned, she had been allowed to kiss Adam, why not Eve.

Suddenly there was an almighty noise, the three early humans stared in horror as the darkening sky was suddenly ablaze with falling stars. Crowley watched as Adam and Eve held one another in fear, and as Lilith ran towards the nice angel at the East Gate.

“What’s happening,” She asked the angel who jumped at her sudden appearance, she was not supposed to be on the Wall, but he was rather distracted.

“They-they are _falling_ ,” Aziraphale look miserable and horrified at the same time, which made Crowley’s heart drop and swell at the same time; he had no part in the Fall and he did not support it innately, he had cared even back then.

“Those are _angels_?” Lilith gasped, “Why?”

Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably and watched with tears in his eyes as thousands of angels were cast out of Heaven, “They disobeyed, they … _questioned_ the almighty. They weren’t playing by God’s rules.”

Lilith grew uncomfortable, “But … but I question things. I-I’m _different_.”

Aziraphale looked into her eyes and smiled forcefully sadness and a hint of hope that he was speaking the truth, “I’m sure God knows what She is doing.”

Lilith breathed a shaky sigh of relief, but then stiffened as the flapping of wings alerted her to the sudden arrival of other angels. Both Lilith and Aziraphale turned to face them.

“You know our names?” The one in the middle asked Aziraphale, but it was Lilith who answered.

“You are Raphael,” She said confidently, “To your left is Gabriel, and your right is Michael.”

Everyone was surprised, but Raphael looked displeased, “Lilith, did you eat the forbidden fruit?”

“No.” She answered truthfully, but Crowley now knew they would never believe her, they had not been watching her that well.

“Lying is a sin,” Michael said cruelly.

Aziraphale was starting to look a little panicked, “What’s going on here?”

“Hold your tongue, Aziraphael,” Gabriel snapped, “Or you shall fall with the rest of them. God is angry with those who disobey.”

Aziraphale glanced back at the falling stars and gulped nervously, some part of Crowley wondered which distant falling star was him.

The three angels stepped forward and Lilith looked both scared and defiant, she had done nothing wrong, but these angels were angry with her and there was nothing more terrifying than facing God’s wrath.

“You have displeased the almighty,” Michael said to the first woman.

“You have taken the knowledge that was not earned,” Gabriel said to the innocent.

“You must fall with the rest of corruption.” Raphael sneered. Lilith looked to Aziraphale who could not meet her gaze and suddenly the fear was replaced with anger as the three angels grabbed her.

There was a sudden blinding light and Crowley shuddered in fear at the memory. Lucifer had been personally cast out by God, but everyone else suddenly found the floor missing beneath their feet. This was God personally manifesting all her wrath and directing it at a mortal. If Crowley had not known better from his own memories, he would have guessed it would kill her, she certainly screamed like it was killing her. High and shrill and desperate, her knees had given way and tears streamed down her face rapidly. The light faded and she fought feebly, kicking and screaming as the three archangels threw her off the Wall of Eden. Present day Crowley remained on the wall as memory began to fade, the three archangels had left as suddenly as they had arrived. Aziraphale stood numbly before falling to his knees and crying.

Crowley was suddenly beside Lilith again, she had regained consciousness after her fall and was now wandering through the night, holding her aching arm and hobbling on her painful ankle. She eventually came across a snake in the dry, harsh sands surrounding Eden. She seemed to recognise it instantly.

“Do you remember how to change back?” She asked the snake gently, “Be true to yourself and you will always become whole again.”

The snake looked at her blankly and then writhed and lashed out until it resembled the angle he had once been. Lilith approached carefully, taking in the sight of his black wings and scorched flesh. He was crying. She knelt beside him and gently guided his face to look at her, she looked into his snake-like eyes and smiled, “That’s better.”

He tried to speak but the words burned in his throat, he was no longer able to speak the Language of Angels, he glowered at Lilith and let his mouth form the words instinctively, as they must have formed in Lilith’s mouth. The language was similar but harsh and bitter, it did not sound as light and gentle as the words he had spoken as an angel, “I’m not … _him_ anymore.”

The newly forged demon looked away from her, and to his surprise, she seemed to understand him in this new language.

“But you are still _you_ ,” She whispered, speaking in the new language despite the cruel nature of this new dialect she still managed to sound loving and gentle, “What do you call yourself now?”

The fallen angel looked up, hate and despair radiating off him like cold from ice, “ ‘You are no longer worthy to wield my lightning,’ She had said, ‘You are the lowest of creation and thus you shall forever crawl on your belly and eat only dust.’ Lucifer had therefore dubbed me Crawley, if you’re going to be damned, you might as well _own_ it.”

Crowley still thought of those words, they were not directly from God’s lips … if God even had lips, but the words were burned into his mind, a constant reminder of his failure and his shame. Lilith comforted him as he wept, and after some time he calmed enough to come to his senses, “What are you doing outside the Garden?”

Lilith looked sad, “I fell too.”

He looked at her shivering and provided a black robe from nowhere and pulled it over her and jumped a little when she winced in pain. He took her arm gently which had started to turn blue purple.

“I may not be an angel anymore,” Crawley said softly, “But let us see if I can still heal things.”

The fractured bone mended, and her precious blood began to flow properly again.

“Why did you fall?”

“I knew too much,” Lilith replied, she did not really understand why they were so upset with her, “They said I had eaten from the Tree.”

Crawley looked at the night sky, there seemed to be fewer stars than there were yesterday, “I fell for asking questions.”

“God is playing a game,” She said suddenly, “Aziraphale said it was _ineffable_ , but I think I understand. God wants us to figure it out while playing, never telling us the rules and simply smiling all the time because to Her it is working out wonderfully for as long as we are stumbling in the dark. But I know the rules, which in many ways is _breaking_ the rules because I’m not _supposed_ to understand, but because I do, I’m ruining Her carefully laid out plan.”

Crawley lifted an eyebrow and looked back at the stars, “I’d like to know what she is playing at.”

“No,” She said wistfully, “You wouldn’t.”

It was nearly dawn when Crawley stood, “I should leave, I don’t know what the sun will do to me.”

“For once I don’t know either,” She smiled.

Crawley frowned, “You should not be left alone.”

“I will be fine,” She said, but her eyes betrayed her sorrowful heart, “Go.”

Crawley shifted back into his new snake form and wriggled into the hot sand to find Hell, and then he got a better idea, and he slithered towards Eden.

He was almost disappointed that Adam and Eve were not thrown from the fifty-foot walls as Lilith had been, but then again, they were ushered from the Garden before God could notice their sin. In truth, not much had changed for them once they had eaten the fruit and Crowley found himself questioning how a little knowledge was supposed to be bad. Perhaps because he was fallen, he no longer saw a problem with all things deemed ‘wrong’, yet the angel did not seem any wiser on the topic either, simply stating it must be wrong because _She_ said so. The angel had seemed nice enough though, and Crawley had heard he was demoted to Principality after losing his sword.

One night, Crawley heard screaming and out of curiosity sauntered towards the sound. Lilith was leaning against a yew tree screaming as she tried to birth her child. The babe had been conceived on the sixth morning before Eve was born. Oddly Eve had given birth to a son and daughter only last week; Cain and Luluwa. Eve had not screamed so much though, another punishment saved only for Lilith. Crawley felt an urge to help her but had no idea how. Mostly he held her as she laboured for another night and day to bring her daughter into the new world, it was almost night again when the baby girl took her first breath and started screaming. It was honestly very disgusting, and Crawley wondered why creation should be so painful if it was supposed to be natural. He washed the baby girl in a stream and returned to find Lilith on the hard ground, exhausted.

“Lilith?” He asked.

She smiled, she weakly took the child from Crawley’s arms at looked at her, “I think I shall call you Awan.”

“I think that’s a good name for her,” Crawley agreed, not knowing what the name meant, but he thought it was a polite thing to say.

“You know,” She muttered looking up at the demon, “I don’t think Crawley suits you.”

Crawley had been thinking that for a while now, and raised an eyebrow, “What would you call me instead.”

Lilith frowned as she thought, “Crowley.”

Crawly smiled, it certainly sounded better, he looked back at Lilith, her eyes were staring up at the purple twilight sky but did not see it.

***       *       ***

Crowley snapped out of the trance first, disoriented and confused. He was holding Pip in his arms; she was still screaming and writhing in his arms. She was still falling. Eventually, she calmed and then passed out. Crowley was still frozen in place, traumatised by the scenes of her lives he had witnessed. Slowly, he rose to his feet, he did not know when they collapsed to the floor. Holding Pip tightly in his arms he carried her to his bedroom, the last time he had used it was two years ago, but he kept the sheets clean. He tucked her in and closed the door behind him. Part of him wanted to call Aziraphale and tell him everything, but Crowley’s mind was so jumbled and exhausted it would probably vocalise as a scrambled screaming mess. Instead, he sat down and thought over everything he had seen, everything she had lived through. Mostly he thought of poor Lilith. God’s anger did this to her, he knew, she has been punished to live and live again until she learned to play her ignorant place in God’s ineffable game, and every time Lilith’s soul would fail to comply, she died horribly with defiance in her heart.

Crowley’s head ached with splitting pain. Important notes; Pip is the Whore who shall be the ultimate weapon against Heaven, Pip was Lilith who was to be Lucifer’s bride and the mother of Evil, Pip’s soul had committed nearly every sin possible but that was only because she had been alive intermittently for just over six thousand years. She was also good, she had done charity work and lived selflessly, showed kindness without promise or the expectation of a reward. She was so … _human_. She hated with every fibre of her being, just as she loved with the entirety of her immortal soul. But she must be bad. She was Lilith, she was the Whore of Babylon, yet she was lived as a pious monk and a righteous and fair queen. Crowley closed his eyes to think and passed out from the exertion of thought.


	4. There's Something Lonesome About You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pip awakens and the clutches of fate tighten about her neck.

Newt stared at the snow. It was a dark red dawn and six months to the day since they had stopped the apocalypse. _Whenne red snowes fall,_ he thought bitterly.

He looked back at Anathema who was boiling a kettle for their morning tea, she had bought Jasmin cottage and Newt had got a job as a self-employed tech support worker, spending six hours a day near his work phone to talk people through the many ways they can get their computers to work better. Their lives were comfortable and cosy, and Newt loved every moment even if he got the niggling suspicion Anathema was getting frustrated. She was not frustrated with him exactly, but something and Newt understood. She had nothing to do. She had lived her entire life deciphering and living by her mad ancestor’s musings about the future. And yes, they had been correct, but it was no way to live a life. She had no hobbies that spanned beyond witchcraft, she had since decided she enjoyed baking, pottery, and knitting at the village parish church. She had decided she did not like golf, sewing, or birdwatching even though she was good at it.

Village life was a quiet life, but it was clean and stress-free. Adam and his friends would visit at least once a day to learn about anything Anathema had read lately. Adam would always make a point to promise not to turn a nuclear reactor into another sherbet lemon or to accidentally create forests in the middle of heavily populated cities. He was always very apologetic for what he had done, Anathema tried to reconcile that at least he tried to save the world, it just got a little out of control.

Newt’s mind wandered back to the box under the stairs. When the suggestion of burning Agnes Nutter’s sequel first arose Newt was happy for Anathema, she was finally breaking free of her dead ancestor, but at the same time took the manuscript down to the local library and have a lovely old lady photocopy it for him. They had burned the original manuscript, it had been difficult but good for her, but really Newt had just traded places, memorising Agnes’ predictions and trying to decipher their meanings. He only looked at the first page after photocopying the manuscript:

_Prediction 1:_

_These papers ov mine will burn as I burned, but copies shalle keepe mine words alive._

Agnes had known Anathema would burn it, but somehow knew Newt would save them, just in case. Some of the predictions were minor, such as buying the cottage and Anathema winning a baking competition, neither Newt nor Agnes had to tell her to do those things, but Agnes had known all the same. Now it was getting serious, around prediction 300 Agnes started talking about beasts, whores, and angels, or perhaps it was just one whore. Either way the first prophecy on such matters read as follows:

_Prophecy 306:_

_Whenne red snows fall the Whore shalle awaken from her daemon’s bed and hyde behind her angel’s wings._

Newt signed at the snow, it was not exactly red, it was just reflecting the red dawn. Snow in February was unusual, but the weather had been unusual since they stopped Armageddon, this was just the after affects of Adam restoring order to the world and he had been affecting the weather in Tadfield for eleven years. An angel and a demon, he only knew of one of each, and both of them lived in London, as to who the whore was, he had no idea. He momentarily thought of Madam Tracy and dismissed the thought instantly.

“I was thinking,” He blurted suddenly, “We should go to London.”

***       *       ***

Pip woke around dawn. The skies were dark, and the air was cold, but a glimmer on the horizon told her it was morning rather than night. She had lost an entire day. She had no idea where she was and when she thought of the night before she could only picture nightmares, blood, death, war, famine, disease, lust, hatred, fear, greed, so many lives and memories that were and yet were not her own. She slipped from the bed almost literally and unsteadily found her balance. Her head was throbbing from too much sleep, not enough water, and the crushing knowledge.

She quietly opened the door to find Mr Crowley, no just Crowley, passed out on his desk. He was drooling on a star chart depicting what appeared to be its celestial orbit. She looked at the demon with some sad affection, she knew just as well as he did what she meant to the world, and it was never good.

“Sorry, darling,” She whispered, placing a blanket over his shoulders and placing a light kiss in his messy red hair, “But I am not safe here.”

She left his apartment swiftly and groaned as she realised, she had never actually called a mechanic to fix her motorbike. She wandered through the quiet London streets, thinking about he lives and Lucifer, she was always brought bac to her memories of Eden, to Adam and Eve, wondering what their lives had been like. Obviously, she knew Cain had murdered Able and how devastating that must have been for them, but later, what had happened to them after all of that? What had their lives actually been like?

Suddenly she looked up from the pavement to find herself outside Mr A. Z. Fell’s bookshop in Soho.

“Hello Angel,” She muttered, she wanted to go inside, she felt safe and happy hiding amongst his books. But that was exactly what she was doing, she realised bitterly, she was hiding. Hiding from hell, hiding from heaven, from the angels and demons. She realised she must have an aura that allowed them to find her, they had found her in the past, trying to corrupt her or end her existence again. She had sometimes tried hiding in monasteries, in temples, living lives of piety and charity and punishing herself for wicked thoughts, but that never worked for long, demons found her and tempted her, or an angel sent a holy man to murder her. This time she was hiding behind an oblivious angel. Pip turned away, “but I can’t put you in danger either.”

***       *       ***

Madame Tracy was now solely providing spiritual guidance and had thrown out all of her seductive matter. Mr Shadwell was finding it harder to let go of the Witchfinder Army, coming up with excuses to keep dusty old relics. Finding a cottage was proving a little more difficult than they had anticipated as it required constant trips to view properties and negotiating prices to fit within her budget.

There was a knock at her door and a moment later Mr Shadwell poked his head around, “Ah, um, I’um jus’ popping ou’. Gonna see if Mr Fell would buy any of these ‘ere books.”

“Alright, Mr S.” Madame Tracy said cheerily, “I’m just setting up for a little séance.”

Mr Shadwell nodded, “Alrigh’, I’ll um see you later Marj.”

Just like that he left, and Madame Tracy felt a tender warmth fill her chest, _he’s never used my name before_.

Outside the weather could not decide whether it was snowing or raining, and Former Sergeant Shadwell pulled his heavy coat closer about himself and set out towards Soho.

***       *       ***

Crowley stirred, groaning with the discomfort of prising his face off the hard table. He rubbed his head and remembered. With startling speed, he stood up and ran to his bedroom to find the bed empty.

“Shit.” He hissed and looked out the window, her motorbike was still outside, but her purse was still on his desk beside the phone, he opened it and looked at the driver's licence inside; _Persephone Isis Peters_.

“Shit!” He grabbed his jack and ran out of his apartment, snapping his fingers to lock it behind himself. The engine of his Bentley was already running, and the driver’s side door was open expectantly, he drove at an alarming speed trying to figure out a way to explain this to Aziraphale.

***       *       ***

“Hm,” Aziraphale voiced meaningfully, Mr Shadwell’s books were shabby to say the least and not first additions as Aziraphale had hoped, but he also felt bad for cutting off Shadwell’s pay, but being a retired sergeant and lying about the people in his employ meant that Aziraphale could think of no other reason to give the man any more money.

“I understand they’re not in the best condition,” Shadwell said meekly, in truth he was surprised they had not crumbled to dust in the bag, “If you don’ want them I could give ‘em to somebody else.”

Aziraphale looked at the former sergeant, “I’m just trying to figure out their worth, it’s not always very easy.”

Aziraphale consulted some notes on his desk and then looked back at the book in his hand, the tobacco damage would definitely affect any offers he proposed for the volumes, a simple miracle would fix the damage but he often found it hard to fully remove the smell. Mr Shadwell stood patiently, gazing about the bookshop uncomfortably, his eyes fell on a pile of books.

“What’re these?” He asked suddenly.

Aziraphale snapped around at looked at the religious volumes Pip had left the two days before and realised with some alarm she was still absent, “Oh, a girl was studying those. She’ usually here all day…”

“Devilry,” Shadwell muttered, looking over the images in the tomes, “What’s she studying the Devil for?”

“Devils and Demons are essential to any religion,” Aziraphale muttered, returning his attention back to the smelly tattered book in his hand, “One cannot define good without bad, and without choice or temptation one cannot choose the light.”

Shadwell did not seem convinced, but then he knew very little about any organised religion, he only read about the bits regarding sorcery and witchcraft. Suddenly Crowley burst through the door, holding a woman’s purse and staring frantically at the books in the corner where a young woman should have been sitting.

“Where is she?” He half yelled exasperated.

“Who?” Aziraphale asked, putting the book down and approaching his friend with concern etched on his face.

“The girl.” He stated as if it should have been obvious, he had to think about her name for a moment, “Pip?”

“I haven’t seen her in a couple of days,” Aziraphale replied slowly, “Crowley what’s wrong?”

“I’m the most _useless_ demon in the all the _blasted_ realms!” He shouted spinning around as if Pip were standing right behind him, just out of sight.

“Crowley, calm down,” Aziraphale soothed, grabbing his arm to stop him turning frantically, “What are you talking about?”

“First I lose the bloody Anti-Christ!” Crowley hissed, he stopped spinning and looked deep into Aziraphale’s eyes, “And now I’ve lost the Whore!”

***       *       ***

Pip walked, her feet hurt but she did not want to stop, nor did she want to go home. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to understand this latest chapter in God’s plan. She knew it was bad, she knew what Lilith was believed to be, what the Whore was supposed to do at the End of the World, she knew this was bad but without specific details, she was not sure how to avoid it. She was so lost in her thoughts she almost failed to notice she had walked down a quiet alleyway.

What am I doing down here? She thought to herself, she suddenly felt afraid.

“Hello?” She called out, only to realise the noise had been a rat in one to the dustbins. She continued walking regardless.

“I thought that was you.” A voice said from behind her, and every instinct told her to run, but there was nowhere to run when you were hunted by angels.

“Sandalphon,” She said confidently before turning around to face him, he looked just as he did the last time she had seen him, though she had not recognised him as an angel nor knew his name beyond the nickname given to him by the newspapers, Jack.

“You’ve woken up,” He observed, “Interesting, I do wonder how you managed that all by yourself.”

“Now is my time,” Pip lied, she did not want to bring Crowley into this, “And you are alone.”

“You don’t worry me,” He said with a sneer on his ugly face, taking a dangerously sharp looking knife out from inside his pale suit jacket, “Just an enemy to be removed from the chess board.”

Pip _tsked_ , six thousand years of confidence and wrath flowing through her veins, “I thought you lot wanted war. Killing me _now_ is not part of the plan.”

“Plans change,” Sandalphon retorted.

“Not _these_ plans,” Pip smiled menacingly, “I am the Herald, I will ride the beast at the End.”

“We will have our war,” Sandalphon defended, “But without _you_.”

Pip laughed, heaven was still afraid of her, “Do Gabriel and Michael know you’re here? Do they know of the whores you butchered in the nineteenth century? Why risk going against The Plan?”

“I will be a hero,” Sandalphon spat, “I’ll get a medal.”

Pip was laughing again, “Is that what you think? You’ll be rewarded? You do know that Michael wants to kill Lucifer? How will she vanquish him if he’s still locked in the deepest pit of Hell? I am to free him and then they fight. It is written.”

“As was Armageddon!” Sandalphone retorted, waving the blade towards her threateningly, “There are other ways for Lucifer to rise from the Pit.”

“He won’t rise,” Pip shook her head, “I’m leaving.”

She had turned away; this was what she needed to do. She hated that it was Sandalphon, but perhaps she could take him with her, but the instincts of a Persian warrior kicked in as the blade was brought down on her. She spun and twisted the angel’s grip until the blade fell from his grasp, and then his hands were about his throat. Having died sixty-five times, she found it surprisingly hard to allow herself to die again. She found herself kicking and clawing at Sandalphon’s chubby fingers which were digging painfully into her neck. Her vision blurred as she reached out and pocked the angel in the eye, it was not as painful to him as it would have been on any human, he was not used to having a corporeal form and therefore he had not bothered to wire his nervous system efficiently. A poke on the eyeball was about as uncomfortable and being prodded in the belly, but he pulled away all the same and Pip threw a punch at the angel, knocking him off her.

She scrambled along the cold wet ground, catching her breath, she glimpsed people walking past the end of the alleyway without so much as glancing towards her. She drew in a breath to scream, but it was muffled by the clammy hand clasped about her mouth. She felt the icy stab of fear as Sandalphon pulled her head back so she could just about see his menacing sneer above her, his other hand gripping her jaw, preparing to break her neck. She bit him, hard. She could see the hint of discomfort and pain in his eyes and bit down harder. Human instinct usually stops an individual causing serious harm to another, but when you are seconds away from a broken neck, priorities change. Pip gave one final desperate attempt to free herself, her teeth locked on his flesh and sliced through his finger and blood filled her mouth. Sandalphon screamed, mostly from shock, but he let go to access the damage and Pip ran.

***       *       ***

“What whore?” Aziraphale stammered, looking at Crowley’s frantic panic with considerable concern.

“ _The_ Whore!” Crowley shouted, “Pip, the girl, _her_!”

“She’s not a … _whore_ ,” Aziraphale nodded, not understanding at all, “Sit down and tell me everything.”

“ _The_ Whore! The Whore of Babylon!” Crowley yelled in frustration refusing to sit and be calmed by the angel, he needed to find her before hell did and if she was not here, she was not safe, “When Lucifer’s star inverts; Venus shall Fall! Venus was the goddess of seduction, Leah was the Whore of Babylon, Pip _is_ the Whore!”

Aziraphale’s face dropped, “What?”

Shadwell was gaping at them in muted confusion.

“Past lives,” Crowley muttered, “She’s been reborn repeatedly … Pip is Leah.”

Aziraphale sat down, thankfully into a chair, “Oh dear.”

***       *       ***

“Newt,” Anathema said softly, “What are we doing here?”

“Uh,” Newt stammered, “Walking?”

“I meant here, In London.” She explained, she had accepted his offer readily, having not been to London, but there was something wrong about Newt.

“I just thought,” Newt tried to think of a reason that was not the photocopied manuscript in his backpack, “I just thought we could see some of the sights.”

“It’s miserable,” Anathema complained playfully, enjoying every moment.

“I know, fewer tourists this time of year,” Newt explained nervously.

“Private Pulsifer?” A rough voice shouted at them from behind them, they whirled around to find a dishevelled Sergeant Shadwell, a nervous bookshop owner, and a distracted man wearing sunglasses on an overcast and miserable February morning, “Wha’ are you doing here?”

“Sergeant Shadwell,” Newt said startled, grabbing Anathema’s hand for protection, “I could ask the same of you. I thought you were moving to the country.”

“Aye, I was,” He nodded, he puffed out his chest with pride, “But someone has to stop the Apocalypse.”

“What?” Anathema and Newt asked instantly. Crowley was sauntering off, looking for something, Aziraphale clearly had half a mind to follow him, but decided against it.

“Yes,” The angel began nervously, he pointed after Crowley, “Apparently Lucifer’s Queen, the true Whore of Babylon is on Earth and we are … well, looking for her.”

“The Whore,” Newt muttered, and everyone turned to look at him, “Anathema I’m sorry, I wasn’t lying or keeping secrets.”

“What are you talking about?” She said suspiciously.

“Well,” Newt took a deep breath and took off his backpack, “I wanted you to live your life, but I know how important Agnes’ prophecies are.” He turned to look at a very confused Mr Shadwell and Mr Fell, “Agnes wrote a second book, a manuscript really … and we … burned it.”

Aziraphale gasped.

“But!” Newt shouted, he turned to Anathema with a heavy heart, “But I copied it first.”

He handed her the manuscript, which she accepted reluctantly. He gave her a few moments before speaking again, “I’ve been studying them, in case there was anything vital. Most of it is nonsense, but the red snow this morning…”

Anathema glowered at him, but could not bring herself to voice her feelings on the matter, “You mentioned a Whore?”

“There are several prophecies mentioning a whore,” Newt conceded, “I don’t understand 313, though. You need to say it.”

Anathema flicked through the pages and the others watched in silent apprehension, “When my Anathema speaketh these words the Whore shalle hear;” A woman who had been walking past, attempting to avoid meeting anyone’s gaze, slowed as if suddenly listening, “the Heavens shalle open,” It began to rain very lightly, “and nought but wicked flame maye save God’s Lightning.”

The strange woman removed her hood, revealing a pale face and damp blonde hair, and shocked green eyes. Pip turned suddenly and ran with desperate speed across the park towards Crowley. A drop of rain fell on Aziraphale’s outstretched hand as he tried to grab her, his hand shook as he recognised the holy feeling in the rain; Holy Water.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale screamed and began running after Pip.

She was so close, and so terrifyingly far, the world seemed to slow as she saw the demon walk out from beneath the protective canopy of a tree. A single drop of rain fell onto his shoulder and he lurched back on pain, he was turning to see what had happened when Pip slammed into him, igniting on impact. Angry red flame whirled and lashed out, attempting to evaporate the rain before it could fall on the demon in her arms. She looked up to see Aziraphale had stopped at a safe distance, mouth wide with alarm. The people he had been talking to were approaching as well.

Pip looked down at Crowley and the awful burn on his shoulder, “How bad is it?”

Crowley looked up at her, still startled by both the rain and the flames “I don’t know.”

After a few moments the heavenly rain stopped, and the flames slowly died down revealing two kneeling figures who were surprisingly unharmed. Crowley was still shaken, and Pip helped him to his feet and lead him back to the others.

“Hello, Aziraphale,” She said with a polite and sad smile, “I’m Persephone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trying to introduce Pip as a love interest for anyone. She has no romantic plot in this story. She loves Crowley, but not at all like that!


End file.
